Papermoron
by Blueotterkitty
Summary: One-shot based off the Disney animated short Paperman. Probably should go under crossovers because of it. Chell and Wheatley meet at a train station. Paper airplane folding ensues. Chelley.


**A/N: This is an updated version with slightly less OOCness and _line breaks_!**

_Come on, _come on_, she couldn't miss her train! _She _needed _that job, she _needed_ to get out of her lousy waitress uniform for once, she _needed_ some more science in her life, some that _didn't_ reek of Aperture… Chell skidded to a stop at the edge of the railroad tracks, her shoes lightly skidding against the pavement with their leather soles, thankfully not a single paper flying out of the manila folder she clung to like her last hope. Of course, it really was her last hope. The folder contained her resume, her medical files; every bit of data important to her that she had accumulated over the last three years living in New Detroit… Chell glanced down at her sterling silver watch, one of her most prized possessions, to check the time. Good, it was only 8. She had been afraid she wouldn't make it to the station on time. She'd completely lost track of it during her respite at the coffee shop, but…

A piece of paper, covered in well-typed words, was suddenly windswept, flying out of the folder and away with the breeze to her right. Chell quickly turned to catch it before it got away, but fortunately, it had glued itself to a tall, lanky man's face, flapping in the wind as it pushed it against the man, trying to break away and join the air currents. Unfortunately for it (and most likely thankfully for the man), Chell had the good sense to snatch it up before it achieved such a feat. What she saw beneath the paper surprised her.

His eyes were a deep, pure blue, the blue of the sky, ocean and berries all rolled into one beautiful shade, that which she knew she'd never seen before yet looked irrevocably familiar, shaded by thin, wiry glasses, his hair a disheveled wheat brown, a Roman nose taking up most of his face, but most surprisingly, he was smiling. Not just the thin, faked smiles Chell'd seen on so many other faces, but a large, toothy grin, seemingly lighting up the area around them, sending her heart aflutter. She didn't say anything, though, simply nodded as thanks and resumed waiting for her ride. A train sped by on the tracks in front of them, carrying an updraft towards her, and suddenly all Chell could see was blurred black lettering on a white canvas.

The wind stopped, and she saw the man pull away the paper, glance at it for a moment, then hold it up, chortling. On the paper, her lipstick had left two crimson red marks in the shape of lips! Chell laughed alongside him for a few moments, but then she heard the shrill tones of a train whistle. She smiled apologetically at the man, then stepped across the platform and through the sliding doors onto the train. She couldn't help but feel bad after she sat down, though, and she couldn't help but look back at the stranger she had just met. Chell didn't even know his name. She'd probably never see him again, and he was the one person in the city who'd made her feel… _happy_. Truly happy. Not jealous, or annoyed, or vengeful, or any of those weird emotions people in New Detroit were fond of. Just, _happy_. It was almost a callback to the days of… She turned sullen. No, Chell would never say his name, or that place's name, ever again. Ever. She meant it. She wanted to get over it already, but for some reason, she couldn't. At least she had that man's true smile to take _his_ place, she thought, and she turned gleeful once more at the thought of the stranger, smiling blankly outwards in the midst of weird stares from her train-riding compatriots.

* * *

_Darn it, Wheatley, why did you have to be so clueless?_ That woman was Chell, he knew it, and he had let her get away and had blown his entire plan. Now he would never see her again, never get his chance to apologise that he so rightfully deserved. Wheatley glanced out the window, hoping to see something other than paperwork… and he did. He saw her again.

She was framed in an upstairs window, speaking with some other woman about God-knew-what, but it was Chell. Same calligraphy black hair, same palest blue-grey eyes, same unblemished crimson lipstick (which, strangely, hadn't been ruined by getting paper stuck to it), same everything, actually. He stood up, and waved his hands in a motion that he thought would be sure to get her attention. But it didn't. She must've been really focused. She always was during testing back _there_. He sighed, and slumped back down at his desk, hands on his head in the universal "I'm so frustrated" sign. He glanced over his desk, looking for something he could use to get Chell to notice little old Wheatley. Instead, he almost lost the kiss-imprinted paper in an updraft blowing through the window. _ Man, that was a close one_, he thought, clutching it close to him like it was Chell herself. It had perfect aerodynamics and everything. Paper was really good at getting away from- or to- people… Wheatley took one glance at the huge stack of forms sitting on his desk. Now, did he still know how to fold a good paper airplane?

The first attempt had fallen to earth instantly, the second had hit the wall right next to the room Chell was in, and the third and fourth, he just didn't want to talk about the guy who had received one or the complete fail of the one that went into the wastebasket. That was what Wheatley had been thinking as he slammed his head against the wall, cursing himself for being so bad at everything. But he didn't give up like he usually would. No, he never would again, because of Chell. She had changed him. And he wanted to know her again. He _had_ to keep going. So he sat back down at his desk, and folded another paper plane.

* * *

Half an hour later, Wheatley reached for another form, still keeping his eyes on Chell, who appeared to be arguing with someone, her mouth open with strong opinions spilling out of it, her eyes blazing with determination. Oh, Wheatley was glad he wasn't the target of that onslaught for once. He felt his hand knock over a wastebasket, heard it clatter against the floor. He turned towards the sound, and saw that he had run out of paper. The man at the desk next to him shifted his stack away from him, afraid that Wheatley would go after his paperwork next. He looked down at his desk, confused as to what to do next one final paper.

The one embossed with Chell's lipstick. That was his last hope. It was worth giving up, for the sake of finding Chell. So he folded one crease, and another, and bit by bit, the final paper airplane took form. Once it was finished, he wound up his arm, ready to send it flying over to _her-_

Wheatley heard a throat-clearing cough behind him, reflexively dropped the paper airplane, and watched helplessly as his last hope, his last reminder of Chell and what she stood for, went tumbling down into the streets of New Detroit. _Oh crap_, Wheatley thought, and turned to face his boss, who was now staring at him menacingly, holding out a fresh stack of forms and gesturing with his eyes for him to sit down and get back to work. Wheatley glanced back to Chell's room anxiously, and was surprised to see that she was leaving. She was halfway out the door as he watched, obviously fuming about something.

But he could catch her. He could catch her on the way out, and apologise, and everything would be good. He snatched up his jacket and ran for his life out of the office, skidding past everyone else, leaving his boss seething and his desk in disarray.

* * *

But Wheatley was too late. Having failed to see which way Chell went, he had lost her. Again. Shamed, he began to walk back to the station, dragging his feet and trying hard not to cry.

* * *

However, a few blocks away, the most marvelous thing was happening. All of the forlorn man's airplanes had landed in an alleyway, and when the kiss-stamped one came along, they all began to follow it. They pranced along in a circle of wind, building up a twister to carry them along. The paper airplanes followed down the alleyway, down the nearest street, searching for the one who had crafted them. Once the kissed one was sure the others knew their mission, it turned away, and went after the other member of the couple.

* * *

Chell walked sullenly away from the building. She should've known. She should've known the scientists would be as rude to her as anyone else in the city. Well, except _him_. He had been nice. She should've stayed with him, instead of going on that goose chase of a job interview. Now she would never see that man, that irrevocably familiar man, that strangely captivating and reminiscent of _there _man-

A gust of wind blew across her path as she was about to turn the corner, and coming around it was… the paper she'd imprinted, folded into a familiar shape: a paper airplane. Once it saw her, it immediately turned tail, something Chell had never thought paper planes could do, flying back around the corner it came, as if beckoning for her to follow. She did. She followed the airplane around bends, down alleyways, past every kind of person imaginable, everywhere around the city, until, after swinging up a stairwell, Chell found herself on a train.

So she took a seat, the little paper plane sliding onto the leather next to her, and the train started moving. She sat there for quite some time, watching people come and go, until finally, at a stop, the magic paper plane (for she was sure that was what it was) rose up from the seat, flicking itself along the wind and out the doors, and Chell hastened to follow. The little entity slid to a stop on the pavement, and she bent to pick it up.

When Chell straightened, she saw a man covered in paper planes similar to the one she had diligently followed half-fall, half-walk out of the nearest train. As he stumbled towards her, the planes peeled off him, one by one, leaving a trail of tiny corpses behind, and Chell realized this wasn't just any man. _It was her stranger._ And, looking into his fluorescent blue eyes, she also realized that this wasn't just any stranger. _It was Wheatley himself. _He had come back for her, just like she'd always hoped.

But wait; shouldn't she run in fear, or glare at him, or threaten him, or kick him in the crotch, or _something_? He did try to kill her after all. But Chell couldn't find it in her to do any of those things. She had realized a long time ago that it had been the chassis' fault, so why should she be mean to him? No reason at all, she thought, feeling her knees weaken at the sight of the goofy grin coming towards her. She shied away for a moment, trying to sort out her feelings, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, but then looked back at him, and gave a sympathetic smile. The kind that said, "_Hello. I'm who you've been looking for._"

"Sorry."

"You'd better be!"


End file.
